Deluge
by Vahalle
Summary: [Oneshot] Meetra and Atton find themselves having another conversation at the cantina in Nar Shadaa. During a stupor, Meetra is reminded of her role in the galaxy and the people she has failed in the past.


At some point, nothing prevailed. Hopelessness began just as quick as the universe spun exactly into place.

Every piece of something beyond shattered in irreparable puzzles resulting in Meetra, a broken Exile.

Every good that came out from the Jedi relied on just the one simple truth. The Force cannot be governed by any entity.

At some point, everything fell right into place.

And Meetra understands.

Meetra voices these thoughts to Atton, her friend, to only get one reply, "We are definitely grabbing a drink."

As the night grows darker, Meetra and Atton wander into the cantina on Nar Shadaa to relieve of the troubles that comes with finding Jedi for some greater good. A greater good that Meetra is sure of.

Atton tags along, partly as protecter, partly as a way to sneak off from the rest of the party and be with the Exile.

A gesture not unnoticed by Meetra and Atton's allies. But most respect the exile's business.

Atton's business is a whole other story.

Finding a comfortable stool at the bar, Meetra sits next to Atton while she orders a Juma Juice and to, "Keep it coming."

In comfortable silence at the most chaotic part of the entire sector, Atton raises a question.

"Would you do anything differently?"

"Like?"

"Uh, well, yanno.." Atton swallows hard.

"Normally, I save the hard questions when we're both plastered, but I am just curious."

"About?"

"Would you do anything differently during the war? Why not just join Revan? Or run away from the Jedi?"

Meetra nods to the bartender and holds the drink in her hand tightly, "If you're insinuating I acted in cowardice by not joining Revan, then maybe you do not remember what happened these past years?"

"Woah, woah, calm down!" Atton laughs, blushing. "I only meant that, man, Revan would totally be worth destroying the galaxy over."

"That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"I figured."

Atton stares intently at Meetra as she stares intently at her drink. The real question that invades Atton's mind like a hungering, festering parasite could wait until he was sure that he'd get a real response.

This is how it was for them.

Their real talk happened only after many drinks in. The only time that Atton could face up to any of his fears. Meetra is more intense.

After small talk about their crew, the repairs the Ebon Hawk needed, and where to find the next Jedi, Meetra slams down another glass of liquor and smiles, blushing drunk, and asking for another.

In a real effort to not slur his words, Atton waits and says as slow as he drunkenly can muster, "Meetra, would you ever want to redo Malachor V?

"Wha..?"

The life drains from Meetra's face as she forces a laugh as if she's never asked herself that question.

"I'm serious."

As The Exile swallows any words that would prove no use, she lifts her drink from the bar and stares a hole into the bottles of alcohol lined up in front of her. Whatever intention the force has for Meetra at any given moment, it has the courtesy for Meetra to finish her drink. At least, that's what it was in her head.

Oh, her head. Aching. Numb. Extremely drunk. All at once.

"Malachor?" She slurs out before having the world spin around her like a warping tunnel.

Up.

Down.

Left.

Down again.

Swirling into a cacophony of direction as the echoes loom around Meetra's mind, and they whisper only, "Malachor."

Meetra blacks out for a moment to stabilize herself, only to notice that Atton was gone.

Perhaps he ran to get help?

Whatever really did govern the force took quite the toll on this broken piece of a Jedi. A fragment.

Someone who believed in justice, in hope, in anything.

A fragment of whatever wills her to fight remains if only the weather is right. If only blood remains off her hands.

If only.

A dangerous state of thought for anyone to possess while willingly having a drink in their hands.

"I knew I'd find you here."

A familiar voice.

A voice she hasn't heard in a very long time.

"Alek?" Her eyes tracing that familiar furrowed brow leading into a smirk of contentment. As if he'd found his lost lightsaber.

"My, we've grown, haven't we?" Alek waves to the barkeep, asking for a water. Just like him too, Meetra thought.

"I'd never expect to find you here on Nar Shadaa," Meetra looks hard at her glass, her glossy eyes filled with guilt stares back. "In fact, you've been dead for five years."

Definitely drunk.

However, as odd as it seems to Meetra, it also feels peaceful, like the galaxy stopped all forms of logic and time for this meeting.

"I never expected to find such an old friend picking up the pieces to a lost cause," Alek watches as Meetra shifts in her seat, clearly in disagreement. Alek smiled, "No one ever really could say to you that your faith was misplaced. Not I nor Revan."

"Perhaps, it wasn't misplaced rather than you and Revan followed a path I never agreed with."

"Or you felt a galaxy's worth of guilt watching me turn to the Dark Side."

Meetra grabs her glass with a tight grip and swigs the rest of her drink. Alek's words are true and cut like a knife.

"However, my friend, that is no matter to me anymore. The force does not will my being to hold grudges, especially to you," Alek whispers as he brings his hand to Meetra's shoulder and gives a comforting squeeze.

In disbelief, Meetra feels it and Alek's warmth, before Malek.

Before The Mandalorian Wars.

Before Malachor.

"The Force makes many exceptions for me." Meetra smiles.

At some point, the lines between drunken stupor and actual cohesiveness blurs as Alek continues to speak of the past.

The sweet, innocent teachings of the idyllic Jedi.

The friendships and pure memories of life on Dantooine.

As Alek finishes his drink, he says one final thought, "What is done is done, my friend. I've passed into the Force, and I am one with the same echoes that you feel now. It really is wishful thinking to think I have been redeemed." As if he had read her mind, he realizes.

"Perhaps, you are right."

Alek vanishes in his seat as a line forms behind from where he was. A line confirming the very worst of Meetra's bonds.

Men.

Women.

Children.

Mandalorian.

Jedi.

Meetra's own men she had lead as a general before appear before her. Missing limbs. Without eyes. Scars, burns, and irreparable damage etched into their skin serve as reminders to Meetra's past failings.

Smiles still appeared on their faces as if the war had never been seen. Their damaged beings no matter to them.

Their wives and children drowning in their sorrow for a lost love to never return.

Her own enemies torn apart as if hunted by a ravage beast. Limb from limb in a frenzy of both lust for power and the need for keeping peace. A balance that never upheld; that never sought disposition or admittance.

Just as hungry as her lust before, Meetra felt a hungry cry from the back of her body traveling up to her mouth. Greedy tears flowing. The words that should have been said spoken ten years too late.

One by one, Meetra watches and listens as those she affected before during the Mandalorian War sit, drink, and discuss the most minute things. The weather. Politics on some small planet. Life after the war.

But they never reacted to her sympathy.

The other patrons pay no mind to the thousands of people occupying space, the otherworldly visitors finding any means necessary to say their piece. No, logic seems to have left whatever coherency was left in Meetra's pounding, throbbing skull.

Echoes.

Empty words from those providing Meetra's endless weight upon her shoulders. As time is spent drowning in conversation and drink, one more curious visitor, the last of them all, orders the strongest drink the bar has.

Gripping it in her gloves.

A hard face through a mask.

Meetra always saw through it.

"Malachor still breathes its lifeless body into you. I guess that is why I am here now."

Revan.

With her presence, the galaxy is still, waiting, wondering.

"I suspect my guilt is not the only you are here," Meetra stares hard into the face of her coveted leader.

"That is why you were my general. Yes, you are right. I am also here to provide you with information."

"I do not think anything can come out of my own drunkenness that will be of any use to me."

"I am here to tell you to snap out of whatever state of mind you have brought yourself into. The repercussions of Malachor will always remain. That no one can ever question. However, you would be wise to watch your allies when you finally step foot into your old battlegrounds. If not, Malachor will not be the only beast you will face again."

"And how do you know that I will step foot on Malac-" Revan's intense stare silenced Meetra. This was not just a drunken stupor.

"Because I am not Revan. I am not Alek. I am not the thousands you've affected with senseless wars." Rapidly, Revan transforms into all the people Meetra has known.

Her parents, wishing her a better future as a Jedi. Alek and Revan, her first friends. Her soldiers following her command, giving their last breaths under her eyes. Kreia, watching Meetra regain the force through Kreia's watchful teachings. Her other allies, serving as hope to the new Jedi Order.

And Atton, her Pazaak and drinking partner, that understand Meetra more than herself at times.

As if a curtain revealing what is beyond the window, Meetra stares at herself.

"I am you."

The other Meetra continues to speak.

"You know in your heart that Malachor was never truly over when you left. You did not need the force to feel that."

"What is this then? My consciousness?"

"No, it is what you do not want to hear before you have started drinking. It is exactly as you perceive it to be."

"You just sound like Kreia now."

"Perhaps."

Just as quickly as it began, the other Meetra left without a trace, leaving only Meetra, scattered thoughts, and a glass needing to be refilled.

"Hey, hey. Are you okay?"

The seat beside her is not empty.

She looks up to find Atton, sitting in the seat where she has left him. Before her vision.

"Thank you, Atton. I'm fine."

"I don't believe that, but I will understand one day what ticks in your head," Atton smiles.

"When that happens, I will just assume the destruction of the galaxy is near," Meetra returns that same cocky smile.

 _Author's note:_ Thanks for reading! It's been a very long time since I have posted a fanfiction! I hope you enjoyed!


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